The Life and Death of Braith
by Tigereyes45
Summary: Braith was not a lucky girl. Yes, she was alive, but that does not mean she lived well. Unlike other children, Braith did not find herself laughing, playing, and having fun. So who is surprised to find out that her entire life would come to an end such as this one? This story is about Braith. How she lived and died.


Braith was a lonely girl, who lived with a father who was often gone, and a mother who never had time for her. Yes, she found herself quickly as an outcast compared to the other children in the town. They all avoided her, except for the coward Lars. A baby battle-born that Braith had trouble admitting she liked him. A boy she picked on because she had no other idea of how to express her feelings or desires. Then again that was back when she was a child.

A child she would be no longer as war raged on. It came to an end, and Braith could not remember if it had been the imperials or the stormcloaks who had won. She could barely remember the last days of the war now. Only that it had been during an attack on Whiterun that she had picked up a sword and stabbed her first man. It had not been her who killed him. Her father had ended the man's life with a true cut through the heart, but she had caused his death. Her sword cutting the man's leg.

As soon as she saw blood flow freely from the wound she had created, Braith knew she had found her calling. Her father saved her from the man who cursed her. Perhaps that was the only time he ever saved her. If you were to ask her Braith would say she never knew another time either of her parents was there for her. Never helping her with her problems, always telling her to take care of herself. Now she was. As a mercenary for hire. Just like her father was before her.

Once the war was done Braith asked every man and woman who wielded a sword within Whiterun to teach her. She begged the companions, the jarl's men, the city guards, her father, other mercenaries. None took her in, none offered to teach her. Despite the lack of a teacher Braith used her money to buy herself a sword. Sneaking out of Whiterun's gates every other night, she would leave towards the empty fields where farms often meant a lack of people during the dark hours. Near the back of Whiterun's wall she setup dummies made of straw, sticks, and mud to hold them together. There every other night she would practice from the moment her parents fell asleep till an hour before they would rise.

That was how Braith first practiced her skills. Six years she practiced, eventually moving on to hunting Skeevers, and other small animals from around the walls of Whiterun. The next time she was able to use her sword in real combat was when she saw a man breaking into a house that had not been visited in years. A house that belonged to the dragonborn. A hero and legend to everyone in Skyrim. A person who had personally affected the lives of almost every individual in her city.

Yet this man was not the Dragonborn. Nor was he one of their friends. For as Braith came walking home from another one of her sessions she saw the thief bent down. On one knee, lock pick in hand. His fingers steadily working at the door. Braith smiles at the fortune the gods were giving her. With slow steps, she reaches the thief as he unlocks the door. Quickly she brings her sword to meet the smooth skin of his neck.

"Stay quiet." Braith orders as she pulls the man up. With callus hands, she pushes him into the Dragonborn's house. Slamming the door shut behind them, Braith does not fear the guards coming. Many odd happenings occur in the Dragonborn's house. They will stay wary, watching the front door, but not the windows. Perfect for what she did next.

Braith was older now on the row for killing a man she had been hired to. She did become a mercenary much to her parent's disappointment. Funny, because as she stands in line waiting for her turn she doesn't remember their faces very well. Her first kill was still fresh in her mind. The pale skin of a Nord just a few years older than herself. His blood spilling freely on the Dragonborn's floor from the cut she had made in his neck. Yet she can not recall what color her mother's eyes were, or the outline of her father as he sharpened the family blade. A blade she stole when she left.

It was hers anyway, so did it really count as stealing? According to her mother, yes. To her father, it was early inheritance. That is what they stated in the letters they sent her. The only two personal objects she kept on her beside her small coin purse that was now lying in the executioner's pocket. If Braith went back she would do it again. Kill the thief, steal the sword, give sweet lars a kiss goodbye on her way out.

The boy was probably married to his friend, Mila by now, or another girl that would make a good battle born wife. That life would never have worked out for herself. She had decided that long ago. Just like it hadn't worked out for her mother.

"Braith!" Came the call from the guard, she had not realized it was her turn already.

Braith walks forward, clad in the leather armor she had been using for the last four years. Her helmet removed lying somewhere in a pile most like. The executioner's face was covered. She would not be given the opportunity to even see the face of the one who would bring her life to an end. That was fair in a way. She never gave any of the people she killed a chance to see her face.

A khajiit forces her down on her knees from behind as a loud woman lists of her crimes. For killing a merchant(what was his name again?), for assaulting the farmers(which?), for killing, etc. and etc. The woman goes on as Braith looks about. For this execution, there was barely anyone around.

Her eyes cast down as the woman continues. There was no dragon to let her escape like there had been for the Dragonborn. There would be no hero to stop this execution. No one would pay to save her after all. A redguard that took to reaping souls as many men do. For her last moments, she imagines the face of the only person she had ever loved. His smile, his cries, the way his hair parted. She focuses on the details she could recall about his face before the woman instructs for the execution to begin. The dirt below was the last thing Braith ever saw.


End file.
